


The Merge

by zoemech



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Falling In Love, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Minor Character Death, Parallel Universe, War, i promise they fall in love and it's really really sweet, keith has a tail because i say so, like very very loose, rating may change to explicit for sexual scenes, slowish burn, soul mates, very loosely inspired by pacific rim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemech/pseuds/zoemech
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Lance has dreamed of joining the Galaxy Garrison and getting off of Earth. War rages in the cosmos and the best chance humankind has at beating the Galra relies on the Merge, a mystic combing of two souls to ensure perfection in a fight: One a combatant, one a pilot. While most others find their partner at a young age, Lance has been left behind. His final chance to remain in space relies on the success of a final Trial, on finding his partner before it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

**★**

 

 

**Circa 2074, 0800 hours:**

**Galaxy Garrison training base, outlier solar system**

 

The Commander stares at the cadets with barely concealed trepidation. Rows of them stand at attention, trained and ready to take on The Trial, most almost too eager to find their partner. But as his eyes roam and latch onto each young face, he finds just as much fear settled between creased brows. Down turned lips and a flicker of the eye: they are unsure of what will happen. Understandable, of course.

Yet, there is one cadet who's face is blank. His hair is long and eyes calm, hands held firm at his back. He's different, so much so that the others steer clear of him; they treat him like a plague. The kid is one of the best he's seen in years, fiercely intelligent and talented. If not for that, there's no doubt he'd be sent to the prison base on Vruis A9-5, kept under lock and key for the rest of his life.

"Kogane!" The Commander calls, watching as the boy flits his eyes toward the risen command post. "Report to Hangar 6 for your first Trial!"

The boy doesn't salute. He doesn't nod.

He just walks, fingers slowly curling into fists.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**5 Years Later, Circa 2079, 0300 hours:**

**Galaxy Garrison Central Warship, Alpha Centauri Star System**

 

 

  
Lance Rivas walks through the halls with light steps, blue eyes sweeping from one corridor to the other. His heart is racing and his imagination is running wild, filling with outcomes that could result in his departure.

But, hell, he _just_ got here. He refuses to let these colony cadets and soldiers scare him away when he's faced worse back on Earth. He tells himself that they're nothing compared to the Dark Market, to the thugs that work for men and women in power, to the pollution that kills just as quickly as a bullet to the heart. Turning another corner, he recalls his last transmission with his sister, her face beaming at the prospect of him finding his way to the central hub of the Galaxy Garrison.

 _They'll pay you better than any scrapper!_ She'd smiled, _You'll come back a hero!_

In the grand scheme of things, Lance wouldn't mind that. He'll send every single cent of his soldiers earnings to his family if it means they can get out of the city, let alone orbit. And sure, having the title of hero would be pretty fuckin' cool too. But overall, he's not concerned with titles. He just wants to pass this Trial, the third he's had in the last eight months, and get on with what he needs to do to succeed.

Orders are called over a comm system, spouting specific numbers before ordering teams to the Hangar bay. TX-4s are arranged from floor to ceiling and he'd managed to steal a quick peek while docking to the ship, breath almost snatched from his lungs at the sight of them. Rumored to be the fastest and most durable yet, the starships looked even better than the virtual models and training simulations had depicted.

He follows the soldier ahead of him and has to hurry to keep up, shouldering through a group of cadets on their way to class. They stare at Lance with narrowed eyes, no doubt recognizing a recruit from Earth when they see one. Whereas they have the markings of a Colony, tiny shapes tattooed beneath their left eye, his face is clear of ink. Other than a jagged scar on his upper lip, there is no show of birth origins anywhere on his body.

In a sense, he feels free because of it. Like, yeah kids, I'm from Earth. What of it?

Feeling ridiculous at the thought, he keeps himself from watching them traipse down the hall. They whisper and nudge at each other, reminiscent of his own years spent learning the basics of galactic warfare. Only, he didn't have space right outside his walls. He was stuck in the desert, staring at the red horizon and the twinkling stars above, eyes catching sight of satellites and debris and maybe, if he squinted hard enough, the Galaxy Garrison's closest orbiting station.

Now that he's actually light years away from Earth it doesn't even feel very real.

"Through those doors." The soldier mumbles, tossing her head in a general direction.

He nods but doesn't say thank you, knowing customs up here are very different than down below. Here, sometimes silence is key.

Taking a deep breath, he presses his hand against a scanner until the red light switches to green. With a whoosh, the doors slide apart and bright light filters into the otherwise shadowed hallway.

Lance enters with a quickening pulse, throat bobbing against a swallow that doesn't want to go down.

The room isn't very big but it's most certainly used for debriefings, several huge screens taking up much of the wall space. A long rectangular table sits in the middle but for now there are no leading officers waiting in the seats. There are no discussions about where the Galra may attack next, where they will need to send their teams and how many deaths have accumulated from recent battles. 

There is only one man waiting for Lance and to say he's a bit intimidating would be an understatement. The guy is huge, his muscles straining against the material of his uniform. On his lapel sit several medals but in the end only one really matters to someone like Lance.

"Commander Iverson." He nods his head in respect, though the way the guy looks at him is a bit lacking.

"I take it you're the new Combatant." He doesn't wait for an answer, "You're aware of the conditions on which you were brought here, yes?"

Lance gulps, "They were mentioned."

Iverson looks up from his papers, a thick brow raised toward his bald head. 

"What I mean is, I'm well aware of the conditions."

"Usually those sent here never make it into my ranks." Iverson laces his fingers together, "Everyone flunks, they give up-"

"Forgive me, sir, but I'm not everyone else."

The man grunts, eyes narrowing. "I'm sure." He stares at Lance for another moment before pushing a tablet toward him. "If you cannot Merge with the candidate, you will return to Earth's orbit. It will be up to the leading officers to either assign you a lower position or discharge you back to civilian life. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

He signs the form that will deem his meeting complete before turning to the door, knowing tomorrow morning will ultimately decide his fate. His stomach twists into knots, nausea rising fast. But before the doors can slide shut and he can follow the same soldier to his temporary room, Iverson calls out to him.

"Rivas!" He waits until Lance glances back, their eyes meeting. "Good luck."

 

★

 

In Lance's imagination he always assumed the leading warship for the Garrison would be ornate. He imagined golden decor and comfortable furnishings, all things similar to government officials lifestyles on Earth.

In reality, while the ship _is_ unbelievably huge, it is almost too similar to the base he trained at in the desert. He's left in a room that is swathed in chrome, the silver overwhelmingly depressing if one focuses on it for long periods of time. The bed is fitted with thin white sheets and a single black comforter, the closet small enough to house several pairs of uniforms and, if he's lucky, his future battle suit. The floor is frigid and a buzzing light shines bright the moment he steps inside, wincing at the headache bound to ensue. 

He breathes deep before letting out a sharp sigh, "Wonderful."

Walking to the desk, he throws his bag on a chair before collapsing onto the mattress. Firm, just the way he hates it. Still, he supposes it's better than taking turns sleeping on the floor back home.

The thought makes him feel guilty and he quickly sits back up, eager to get to his tablet. It lights up the moment his thumb finds the sensor, a shifting picture of his family taking up the entire background. He smiles and flicks a finger up, making a holographic screen hover. There's several messages waiting for him and he quickly scans them, ignoring those trying to get him to donate to some shitty politician. The guy will probably buy his way to power anyway.

Lance laughs at one from his older brother who seemed to be making a point of screaming at the sky, the picture a bit blurry.

 _Think you can hear me all the way up there?_ He'd asked Lance years ago, _Cause if you ever make it, you better listen out for me._

He opens his contacts and selects one simply labeled: _Home._

The screen shifts from fuzzy grey static to a distorted face, bits breaking up and crackling before settling back into place. It takes several seconds but once his Momma's face becomes clear tears immediately spring to his eyes, making his lashes grow damp and cold.

"Lance?" She calls out, Spanish settling deep in his ears and right on his heart. "Are you there?"

"I'm here." He sniffs and wipes at his cheek, glancing at the chaos that is their house.

With so many people living in one space there's always a mess to be picked up. Their couch is covered in a pile of clothes, books are scattered on the floor and someone seems to have forgotten to pick up their breakfast plate. Glancing at the time, he corrects himself, _dinner_ plate.

"Show me your room!" She gushes, "I told your brother to get home soon but he insisted on taking Grump on a walk. And your father is still at the factory, Veronica swore she wasn't going to the Scrap Market but you know that girl, always getting into trouble."

Lance laughs, wishing more than anything he could give his stupid old dog, and his outrageous family a huge, long hug.

"I can't stay on the call long." He gets up and switches the tablet camera to show off the room, "I have to get up in about two hours-"

She curses, "Why did you call then, hmm? You need to get some sleep!"

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs and sits back down, "Who knows, by this time tomorrow I might already be back home. Then you'll have to start dragging me out of bed again."

She sobers, brown eyes boring into his. They both know it's a serious possibility.

"This is it, baby." She tries for a smile, her brown face glowing from the setting sun. Their window is probably open, letting in warmth and hazy polluted light. "You're gonna do great."

They talk for a shorter time than he'd hoped but when his eyes begin to droop she is quick to order him to bed. He falls into his pillow, not even bothering to pull the comforter over his body. And when the call is ended, he tries to believe what she says. He hears her voice repeat it over and over and over, until he swears she's sitting right beside him in the dark.

 

★

 

Lance had no time for breakfast but when he walks into the Trial room, he's actually glad he missed it. He's sure that if he'd eaten anything it would have made its way back up already.

Commander Iverson waits on the other side of a shatter proof glass wall, his face stoic. Like he already knows what's going to happen. Like he knows Lance is going to fail. The air is eerily quiet, so much so that Lance hears a very subtle ringing in his ears. The only other person in the room is a Tech coordinator, her long blonde hair braided and settled over a thin shoulder.

Lance watches as she gathers wires and turns on a monitor, the kind that will gauge his heart rate and make sure he isn't going into any kind of serious shock.

 _You've done this so many times already._ Lance tells himself, _Nothin' bad's gonna happen. You're fine, you're fine, you're-_

"Step forward, please."

Startled, Lance jumps before settling his feet in a small square perimeter. The floor lights up a neon blue, signalling that he's stable before displaying his weight on the monitor. The Tech pushes up his sleeve and sticks a small pad onto the pulse of his inner elbow. Two go on either temple, one on the nape of his neck and six along the expanse of his chest. He looks down at her and tries for a smile but even he can tell that it's wobbly.

Nervous.

When she's done, she presses another button on the monitor and with sharp clarity his heartbeat comes to life. It beeps loud, thankfully filling a bit of the silence. He lets out a slow breath, eyes passing over Iverson and the small gathered crowd simply curious about how this will turn out. It's not every day a guy his age takes part in a Trial. Usually everyone has their partner by age fifteen and to be five years late, without a solid excuse as to why, is pretty much unheard of.

Feeling like an animal in observation, Lance settles his attention on the other side of the room. Any minute now the door will slide open and his candidate will walk through, who on all accounts is a complete mystery to him. So far the others he's entered the Trials with have all lost their partner to the war and don't really want another, making that very clear by the way they'd always glared at Lance as if he personally killed them.

This person, he concludes, will likely be the same.

Time ticks on and on and for a while, he fears the candidate has refused to show up at all. He probably heard that Lance is from Earth and can't bear the thought of dealing with a kid who didn't grow up in the colonies, where star travel was easily acquired. Where almost everyone thrives _in_ the cosmos instead of beneath it.

But then the door is beeping and sliding and he's facing the stranger head on, having no time to feel any form of relief. 

On the contrary, he takes a large step back. The floor flashes red and the Tech pushes a hand on the small of his back, urging him to remain in place. But how can he? The guy isn't what he expected at all.

The guy isn't even _human_.

Like the images shown of their enemy, of the evil empire intent on taking over their galaxy and those of their allies, this boy looks ready to kill. His skin is pale but his teeth are sharp, apparent by the way he bares them. Hair shaggy and dark, it barely conceals a pair of dark black ears similar to that of a cat, the pupils of his eyes appearing to be very thin slits. And behind him, whipping in apparent agitation, is a tail.

The boy walks up to his sector and it lights the same blue as Lance's, gauging his weight. While the Tech places wires to his skin, he doesn't take his eyes from Lance. He watches him like a predator surveys prey.

There's a crackle of electricity before Iverson's voice comes through the comms, tone very serious. "Both of you know what is at stake here. Both of you have something to loose if you fail. Do not take your helmets off, do not give into the memories, _find_ the determination to Merge. This is your final chance."

Helmets are placed on their heads, bulky in appearance but otherwise comfortable. Lance is thrust into the dark, his breath the only sound in his ears. It grows suffocating fast and the oxygen filtered inside is stale in his nose.

And then, just when he thinks it'd be best to throw the thing off and get the fuck out of the Trial room altogether, he hears his Momma's voice. He pictures his small house and the factories polluting the skies, his years spent pulling old machinery apart to sell and busting his ass in the desert. He thinks of the Trials failed one after another. He thinks of his twin, of her ability to believe in him and how she would point at the sky, teaching him constellations.

He holds onto her grin, knowing it'll give him the strength he needs. As if her guiding hand was drawing closer, his shoulders drop an inch and he forces himself to regain his composure. For her, he lets out a final steadying breath and shuts his eyes.

 

★

 

The Merge is a wasteland of light.

It begins the same as every time before, echoes of memories playing at the edges of his psyche. He lets them flow through him and he doesn't allow himself to hold on no matter how much his instincts are telling him to. If he does, it'll all be over. He'll be kicked out and his ears will be bleeding, heart pounding fast enough that he'll have to be sedated.

But in here his physical body is gone; all that remains is the transience. His mind, his soul, whatever people choose to call it, is all there is.

Lights shift in bursting colors of blue and silver before water surrounds him fast, usually the final sight before it all goes to shit. He braces himself for the wave that will pull him under, for the single memory that will utterly destroy him. Familiar screams take over and he gasps, lungs filling with sludge, panic lacing his entire body. For a fleeting moment he is back on Earth, the sky a hazy orange in the evening, smoke pouring into the clouds from factories churning weapons for the war. A train sounds in the distance but Lance is stuck, chest blossoming in pain as his world falls down, blood spilling onto the pavement.

And then, just when his head is about go under completely, the sun begins to shine.

It washes over the astral sea like fire in a field, catching on each cresting wave. Lance stares up at it, his hand automatically reaching toward it. He grasps and struggles, seeing flashes of memory that are not his own; that show shadowy streets and an older man smiling and two moons instead of one: a colony and a ship that is not meant to be in Garrison controlled sectors, the purple and black leaving a trail of fire behind as it leaves orbit.

Then he is being pulled up and up, fingers lacing tight over someone else's. They both hold tight as fresh air pours into the Merge like a whirlwind that won't stop spinning, creating chaos before the calm.

And when that calm comes, it is unlike _anything_ Lance has ever felt before. It is soft water and warm sand, rustling trees and snow on the mountains and the ever-long expanse of infinite space: of stars and rotating planets and galaxies that have never been discovered or ravaged by war.

He gathers himself closer to the other person, uncaring of something wrapping around his waist, uncaring that it holds him tighter. All he cares about is the peace, a soul deep connection that he can't possibly understand but _knows_ is real anyway. Warm breath brushes his own lips but it isn't sexual or romantic; it is a shared life, a willing promise that the person will give their life if he should ever need it. 

The person in front of him is shrouded in sunlight, keeping their face in shadow but their eyes burning bright, hair floating around them as if they're suspended under water. Stars rain down, hitting the faux ocean with static bursts, some fading on his own skin. But before Lance can do anything more there is a harsh zap in his chest. Both of them are thrown away from each other, time slowing until an inevitable stand-still.

Then it all goes black.

 

★

 

  
Everything comes into focus slowly: the white floor and the monitor, the shoes of the Tech and the whoosh of a door opening and closing. It's all a blur until his thoughts finally catch up with the subtle shock of his body. When the helmet lifts from his head Lance can do nothing more than fall to his knees, eagerly catching his breath. His heart is beating fast and wild, cheeks wet from tears he didn't know were falling. What felt like several intense minutes within the Merge was actually several hours and his tense muscles feel the effects almost immediately. 

When he accepts the hand offered to help him to his feet, Iverson isn't beaming like a proud parent. He's not smiling or offering congratulations. He simply places a hand on Lance's shoulder, nodding as if to say: _aren't you a lucky bastard._

"It-" Lance clears his throat, "it worked. We Merged."

Iverson takes his hand away, "You did." But when he steps aside, Lance's new partner is not there. "You'll be housed in the soldier corridors and given the proper uniforms soon. Go gather your things."

With that, he leaves.

The Tech takes the wires from Lance's body but neither of them say a word, not that he thinks he could anyway. Staring at the empty spot ahead of him reminds him of just who he's successfully bonded with.

Or, rather, _what_.

Almost in a daze, Lance walks to his room and shoves what few belongings he has back into his bag before finding himself in halls full of energy and bustle. He's stared at by literally every soldier who passes though it takes him a while to understand why. They eye his cheek, void of a crescent or star or pyramid or any other symbol, and glance to the new dog tags placed around his neck. If they can see his name and rank, they don't comment on it.

He's led to a new room, one that has an identical bed on the other side. Someone else's belongings are kept neat and organized, large boots sitting polished by their closet. The desk is split in half but whereas Lance's is empty for now, his roommate's is covered in papers and a single thin tablet.

The moment he sits on his new bed the door slides back open. He looks up fast, expecting a tail and sharp teeth, maybe even angry snarls or threats.

Instead, a human boy raises his hand in a small wave.

"Yo." He saunters in, round face covered in beads of sweat.

Taking off his boots, he's quick to fall into his bed with a loud groan. His build is stocky and large, thick dark bangs pushed back by a bright orange headband. The rest is braided against his back, loose from movement.

"Hi." Lance finally replies, trying to gather his bearings. "Hard day?"

"More like an absolute nightmare." The boy's accent is rounded, his vowels drawn out. Lance catches sight of his symbol, the triangle showing that he's from the colony of Titan, Saturn's largest moon. "Name's Hunk. Nice to meet ya'."

"Lance."

There's a beat of awkwardness, the kind that isn't meant to last. And when the boy sits up, face suddenly very bright, it doesn't. He gets to his feet and holds out a fist, smile tilted. Lance flushes, knowing a handsome guy when he sees one. And yeah, Hunk is _very_ attractive.

When their knuckles touch, they both laugh.

"S'bout time I got a rommate." Hunk sighs, "This place can get kinda lonely when i'm not with my Pilot."

"No kidding."

"Where ya' from?" He asks, eyes roaming Lance's face but judging by the way he tilts his head, it only took him a moment to figure it out, _"Earth?_  I mean, I heard rumors but I kinda figured they were fake-"

"Uh, yeah." Lance ducks his head, "Terran in the flesh."

Hunk ruffles his hair, obviously having no problem initiating contact. Lance leans into the touch, practically starved for it.

"No need to be embarrassed. The Garrison started on Earth, ya' know. If anyone has a right to be here, it's you."

Lance looks up at him, "Says the guy from _Titan_."

"No biggie. There's loads of us out here but there's only one of _you._ " He finally sits back down, "Who's your pilot?"

"No idea."

At Hunk's wide eyes, Lance lets loose a small laugh. "I just Merged with him."

"Like, just-just?" Hunk asks, "As in, today?"

"Yup."

Hunk looks like he's wracking his brain, "What's he look like?"

Lance winces, "Uh, well. He's got ears." At Hunk's deadpan expression, he hurriedly continues, "Sharp teeth, long tail-"

"Shit, dude." He breathes, "Seriously? You Merged with _Keith?"_

The name is unfamiliar but almost instantly the boy's face rises in his mind.

"Keith." Lance repeats, trying it out on his tongue. "He looks like..like a fucking Galran-"

Hunk shakes his head, something akin to pity sparking in his eye, "He is. Partially, I think? From what I've heard, at least."

Before Lance can ask more, a chirping noise filters through the comm's. Doors slide open in the hallway and footsteps pound past their door, voices rising and falling in conversation. Lance gets to his feet, knowing it's impossible that he'd be allowed to fight so soon but wondering if they'd make him do it anyway.

"Relax, buddy." Hunk places a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It's just time for lunch."

When they enter the fray of the hallway, Lance's eyes immediately scan for Keith. He wonders if he's even housed here or if he's kept somewhere else, no doubt a bringer of unease and hostility to those who have lost loved ones to the Galra.

Hunk quickly quells his worries, "He never shows up in the cafeteria. You probably won't see him again until your first flight."

The reminder makes his stomach turn, "Right."

"Don't worry about it too much. If you Merged, it was for a reason. It's not like he can hurt you without hurting himself."

"Everything we were taught about Galrans-"

"Is true." Hunk whispers, eyes flitting to a camera on the ceiling, "Unless it's not."

Cryptic as it is, he doesn't say anything else. There's no way to tell if he's joking and even if his nervous laugh is real, he doesn't give any indication as to why. He simply leads Lance on until they're standing in line for food, the smell not totally unpleasant. And when he finally sits down there's no denying the rumble of his stomach, the way he chews much too fast. He tunes everything out, voices becoming a dull echo in his headspace.

Everything is happening too fast. One moment he's just a kid on Earth, trying to enter the Garrison to give his family a better life. The next, he's paired with the enemy, or rather, who he _thought_ was the enemy. And though it scares the shit out of him and he kinda wants to take the Merging back, there is a fierce tug in his chest. It pulls and yanks until he feels antsy, knee jumping as he bounces his foot on the floor.

He wants to run through the halls and find the guy, maybe shake him and scream that it's not _fair_. That he's already seen as some kind of freak, the lone Terran who actually made it past the station orbiting the small blue planet. That he can't handle being singled out for something he can't control; for something as serious, as mystical, as the Merge.

"What'd that pudding ever do to you?"

Lance looks up at the new voice, realizing he's holding his spoon way too hard mere seconds before it snaps. One piece of plastic flies across the table while the other sits in his fake chocolate pudding, the only sweet delicacy he'll likely get on the ship.

Across from him, a girl chews slowly around a piece of white meat. She stares at him and waits for an answer, glasses making her brown eyes appear larger than they should be. Her left cheek sports the starburst shape of Mars.

"Tastes like shit." He grumbles.

She stares at him for a moment before cackling, nudging Hunk with her bony elbow. "This Terran's got a sense of humor!"

Hunk smiles, "This is Pidge-"

"Your Pilot." Lance guesses.

"The one and only."

Pidge grabs her own spoon and sticks it into Lance's pudding, taking a huge glob back to her mouth. She shuts her eyes and licks her lips, brows furrowing as if in deep thought.

"He's right." She eventually confirms, throwing her spoon back to the table before taking a big swig of water, "Tastes like literal shit."

When Lance finally laughs, she looks pleased. She and Hunk fall into an easy conversation and Lance can't help but watch them, studying the way they ebb and flow. It's easy to see they've been Merged for a long time. Where Pidge leans to steal Hunk's bread, he reaches to take the rest of her meat. When he gives her a specific look, she nods back, seemingly knowing what he meant without the need for words.

Lance gulps and looks back to his food, feeling a dark swell rise in his chest. It sticks for hours, from the time he makes it back to his room until he's showered and laying in his bed. And when his tablet clock reaches midnight, his eyes begin to burn from staring at his ceiling, rumination driving him mad. Sleep sneaks up on him in slow increments and he doesn't recall when his blinks finally slow, if he remembered to set an alarm, where the hell he's supposed to go to start training with _Keith_.  
  
Everything is gone from him, taken away by exhaustion. 

He doesn't even dream.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk's accent in my head sounds Australian lmao. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm really excited to get this story going! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter (although I feel it may have moved a bit quick) and I really hope you stick around for more. Comments are very welcome and super appreciated :) 
> 
> Come hang with me on tumblr! I'm [zoemech](https://zoemech.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
No amount of preparing could have gotten Lance ready for this.

The training room is huge, ceilings towering feet above his head with lights bright and blaring. He winces, sleep still stuck in his eyes. Though he'd gone through rigorous training for years, he's heard of partners still needing time to get to know each other. Like, sure, you have a mystical soul bond now. But mentally and physically, even _emotionally_ , things need to run smooth and steady for a pair to be deemed good enough to fight with the others.

Lance grimaces the moment the door behind him whooshes open, the air in the room immediately turning to static. The constant tug in his chest settles but he refuses to focus on why.

The answer, it seems, is already prowling behind him, probably sizing him up-

Breath on the back of Lance's neck makes him tense, eyes going wide, throat bobbing to keep from choking on nothing. Keith's tail comes into view seconds before it wraps around Lance's lower calf, tightening like some kind of coiling snake.

"What-"

"Your skill range." Keith says, voice smoother than Lance expected it to be, "What are your strengths?"

Lance feels a spark of indignation rise in his chest, "Wanna back up a bit, dude?"

"No."

Quick as a whip, Lance turns and pulls at Keith's arm, effectively flipping him through the air. But the boy is fast and before he can slam onto the ground, he's spinning and landing on his feet. He doesn't waver an inch, his balance seeming almost impeccable regardless of the slight surprise on his face.

"I've heard of pilots bullying their combatants." Lance growls out, "That's not what's happening here and if you try i'll-"

"You have no symbol." Keith interrupts, ignoring Lance's threat.

And just like that, Lance is withdrawing into himself. It's one thing for Lance to act out in anger, to try to protect himself physically from some wacko assailant. But it's another thing entirely to keep harsh words from splintering his confidence, which had never been that strong in the first place.

Still, he knows how to put on a show.

He raises his head and squares his shoulders, jaw ticking. "And? You aren't even human, far as I can tell."

Keith's mouth turns down in a sharp frown, tail whacking against the ground. "I am human-"

"No. You're not." Lance says, knowing he's being an asshole but unable to find the control to stop. "You ever see anyone else that looks like you?"

Baring his teeth, Keith runs at him with no warning. Lance braces himself against the impact, his boots sliding a bit on the floor when a strong kick threatens to send him flying. He throws a punch and clips Keith's chin, hearing his teeth snap together in a harsh clack.

"Break it up!" Someone shouts over the comm, voice booming and echoing.

Lance huffs a breath and watches Keith wilt, just a tad, before bringing his fingers to his jaw. There's no blood on his lips but Lance knows it must hurt because his own damn knuckles are pulsing.

When Iverson speaks again, his voice has retained the tone of command. "This training exercise is meant to help the two of you _connect_. Not try to kill each other."

Keith makes a low noise, one that has Lance whipping his head to him in a flash.

"Did you just growl?" Lance asks, "What are you, a dog?"

"Shut it, Rivas!"

Lance slams his mouth shut, knowing he's acting like some hotheaded teenager. But the guy brought it out in him quicker than anyone has in years. Even the dumbasses on earth, with their steel bats and crazed eyes, didn't make him act quite like this.

"Before I let either of you step foot in a TX-4, you need to learn how to fight together. Work together, succeed _together_ , figure out how to get shit done. Understood?"

They both nod, though Keith's eyes slide to Lance like he's more inclined to do the opposite. With a booming buzz the roof opens with slow slides of silver tile. Lance cranes his head before noticing the rack of weapons on the far wall and he suddenly wishes he'd noticed it sooner. A scraping noise makes him wince and he watches Keith take off, already finding his weapon of choice.

By the time Lance makes it there, the first Bot lands on the ground behind him.

"C'mon, c'mon." He whispers to himself, eyes scanning each weapon.

While he knows there's a very slim chance he'll need to use actual hand to hand combat in the future, especially considering most battles are conducted in open space, he'd still rather use something he's familiar with. A noise clashes behind him and he hears Keith grunt, the sound sending a pulse of panic and worry into him whether he wants it to or not.

He almost lets out a victorious whoop when he finally spots the gun laying beneath a rather large shield. He tugs it free and feels the weight in his palms, the model older than he'd like but good enough to get the job done. Pulling at the chamber, he checks to make sure the rubber bullets are ready for quick fire, his finger pressing an inch on the trigger to ensure that it won't jam.

Then, with a smile rising on his face, he spins. The bullets won't kill Keith if they hit him, the most they'll do is leave painful bruises, but like _hell_  will Lance even let that happen. He's a combatant for a reason, chosen for his precision and planning and almost perfect marksmanship. The bullets fire in a barrage of loud noise, flying right beside Keith's cheek before hitting the target. Keith glances back and Lance expects a look of anger or annoyance, maybe even violence, directed toward him. But Keith simply looks pleased.

Their eyes lock and that strange tug erupts in Lance's belly, making him take several steps closer. He sweeps his gunfire just ahead of Keith, giving him clearer access to Bots that have been taken off guard. So far the boy is great with a damn sword and Lance knows it makes perfect sense that they'd go for weapons that compliment the other. Long-range and short-range; a perfect team.

More Bots fall to the ground, the tech similar to that on earth but definitely more refined. Their inner components don't show and if not for the dark red glow of their eyes, Lance would think that they're fighting against real people. The rubber bullets make contact with the middle of their chests and the solid expanse of their heads, some pressing quick to their temples. They fall like stone, the glowing blue number on the wall climbing with each faux kill.

Suddenly, the Bot in front of Lance pauses. The act throws Lance off for a split second and his finger eases on the trigger, brows furrowing at the strange light glowing on the Bot's arm.

Then, with a stuttering breath, Lance realizes that the Bot is _morphing_.

In no time at all the thing is raising its own gun where before there had been only a hand, the barrel width much wider than Lance's own. It won't shoot rubber bullets, of that he's very sure. When the laser fire erupts, Lance braces himself. He raises his gun as if it could protect his face and he knows jumping out of the way would be pointless; the laser will just follow him until its lightning on his heels.

The heat he expects to fall on his face never comes. One moment he's wondering if it'll hurt, if he'll have to be taken to a med bay and worried over by some nurse, and the next he's peeking from between his crossed arms. Keith is standing in front of him, sword having fallen to the ground, his other arm strapped against a battle-worn shield. The surface sparks and glows and Lance can see Keith grit his sharp teeth, sweat having broken out on his face.

With no hesitation, Lance steps closer and lets the boy fall against his chest. He strengthens his thighs and holds fast to Keith's elbow, until their bodies take in oxygen in tandem and keep grounded. Their breathing is loud, the laser fire bright as hell and although it's just a training exercise, he should have known the Garrison here wouldn't hold back like they did on earth.

If you're stationed on this ship, you are expected to be the best of the best. And sure, Lance doubts he's even close to being that. But if Iverson thought the two of them would do better on some lower level base or outpost closer to the milky way, he would have sent them there in a heartbeat. He wouldn't be testing them now, no doubt watching their every interaction with eyes like a hawk.

"You good?" Lance breathes, feeling Keith's entire body start to shake.

This is lasting way too long.

Keith grunts and dips his head, dark hair falling to cover his face, "M'fine."

And though he looks close to collapsing, Lance believes him. It's a surety in his mind that doesn't waver, that makes him feel the determination running within his voice.

But, eventually, the assault does stop. The laser powers down and Lance quickly lifts his own gun, one arm wrapping tight around Keith's abdomen to keep him from falling. When he squeezes the trigger, the Bot goes down like dead weight.

"Enough." Iverson orders, the word crackling over the intercom.

He says nothing else and soon the Bots are being cleared away, hooks dropping from the ceiling with magnets that connect to the base of their necks. They rise one after another, damaged but not entirely destroyed.

"You okay-"

Keith pulls away from Lance's arms, "I said I'm _fine_."

"Cool." Lance frowns, sarcasm thick in his tone. "Great. Good to know, I guess."

Sweat has pooled in the dip of his back and Lance pulls at his shirt to let in some stale air before turning without another word. He's tired, he's already ridiculously sore and even though he wants nothing more than to just be around Keith, he also wants to never see him again. It's a contradiction that haves him glancing back at the boy just once. Just long enough to see the way his dark eyes slide up and catch on his own, brows furrowed against the sweat trailing along his cheek.

In the end, Lance leaves the same way he came.

Alone.

 

★

 

Later, after Lance has reported to Iverson for constructive feedback and risked a quick nap, he makes his way to the cafeteria with slow dragging steps. His uniform is stifling and he wants nothing more than to jump in a great pool of water, specifically one with waves and riptides. Hell, he'd even let that tide take him all the way out to the rolling sea so long as he can feel his body float.

"Rumor has it you got the shit beat out of you today." Pidge says the moment she sits down across from him, already leaning most of her weight on Hunk's large shoulder.

Lance grunts, "Sure."

"Don't worry, buddy. She won't admit it but those Bots beat the shit out of everyone."

Lance smiles at Hunk, knowing he must look pitiful. He's slumped over his food, feeling a great pit of hopelessness churn in his belly.

"The guy hates me." Lance says.

Pidge raises a brow, "Never heard of partners hating each other before." She smirks, sly and teasing. "But there's a first for everything."

"You should see the way he glares at me-"

Hunk snorts, "He glares at everyone."

Poking at his bread, Lance eventually just pushes his tray away so he can rest his chin on his folded arms. "How long has he been here?"

"He was here by the time I showed up." Hunk shrugs, "So definitely a while. There used to be fights and he'd always be seen being dragged away bloody so he couldn't like, kill anyone. Shit like that made people hate him."

Pidge looks behind Lance, murmuring something along the lines of: _speak of the fuckin' devil._

Sitting up fast, Lance can feel his approach long before he actually throws himself into the seat beside him. The entire cafeteria has gone quiet, though whispers rise soon after. And when they realize nothing is going to happen, that no fists will be thrown or utensils stabbed into flesh, they slowly get back to eating.

Lance risks a glance over, not surprised to see Keith already glaring back.

"The fuck do you want?" Lance asks, eyes flitting toward the deep violet bruise on his chin.

Keith just shrugs and reaches over, sliding Lance's tray toward himself. He picks up the half eaten sandwich and takes a large bite, his tail shifting to rest in his lap.

"You can't just take my food-"

"You weren't eating it." Keith chides, "Someone has to."

Scowling, Lance snatches the tray back. He picks up his fork and stabs some veggies, nose scrunching at the bland flavor. When he looks back to Pidge and Hunk, they're watching Keith with wide eyes.

"What?" Keith grumbles, cheeks puffed as he chews.

Hunk clears his throat, "Nothing. Sorry."

Giving up on pretending dinner is appetizing, Lance just pushes his tray back to Keith. He watches as the boy scarfs down the rest of the veggies, hand shooting out to grab Lance's water bottle. He unscrews the lid and downs all of it, throat bobbing almost desperately.

"What the hell's up with you?" Lance finally asks, a small ping of worry brushing against his annoyance.

Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "Why does something have to be wrong?"

"Maybe because you're acting like you haven't eaten in days?" Lance grimaces, "And you obviously don't give a shit about _germs?"_

"Just hungry." He hands the empty water bottle back, "I'm trying to bond with you."

"Huh?"

Pidge snickers and fails at hiding it with a cough but Keith still doesn't look away. As if she hadn't made a noise at all, he just watches Lance carefully. Studying, almost.

"We're bonding." He says again, this time slow and steady, like one would talk to a confused child. He leans closer, tail leaving his lap to wrap around Lance's arm. It isn't a tight hold but it's not very comfortable, either. "Iverson said if we don't learn to get along we get sent to B-85."

"Shit." Pidge whistles, "That's like the dog shit of bases. Even worse than getting sent home."

Lance grimaces. He'd heard stories of places like B-85. Though they're with the Garrison, and technically trained as soldiers, none of them have ever seen battle. In all likelihood, they never will. It's a last stop before total discharge and a life spent mining for minerals or making the weapons meant to win this endless war.

"Great." He sighs, bringing a hand to his face.

He rubs at his eyes and feels Keith's tail shift, if only by a small inch, toward the dip of his elbow.

If there's any powerful all-knowing being in this universe, he prays they try to help him now.


End file.
